


Suncity

by IceMage4739



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Also a little bit of a tangled au? Idk it's a mix, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, M/M, Magic, Prince Lee Minho | Lee Know, Swearing, Thief Jisung, a little bit of magic, but like not really magic, but only a little I promise, cause i sure don't, it's night but there's a lot of sun symbolism, literally has no time period??? who knows when this takes place, this is kind of like a reversed Cinderella?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceMage4739/pseuds/IceMage4739
Summary: “Do you know the city well?”Jisung met his eyes evenly. “I grew up here,” he said, proud. “I probably know these streets better than anyone else.”Minho grinned, walking forward until he was close to the boy again, excitedly grabbing his hand. “Show me the city!” he pleaded, eyes wide and hopeful. “Please!”Jisung’s mouth dropped, obviously taken aback. He stared down at where Minho held his hand, then back up to his face. “No,” he said. “No way.”---Minho justs wants one night of freedom, to live and experience everything he's always wanted to. And, maybe, the beautiful boy with shining eyes can help with that. If he doesn't steal from him first.





	Suncity

**Author's Note:**

> From Khalid's "Suncity"

_Llévame a ciudad del sol_  
_Llévame, llévame_  
_Donde dejé mi corazón_  
_Llévame, llévame_  
_Llévamelo_

_–Suncity//Khalid_

  
 Minho lived for nights like these.

 Normally, it was nearly impossible for him to get away–he was watched like a hawk, day and night. He knew it was for his own safety, but he was _22 years old_. He just wanted to breathe. Even if it was just for a couple of nights a month, he cherished his freedom.

 The city was bustling with activity when he walked into it. Before he left, he’d assured his guards that he wouldn’t need anything, that he’d had a long day and all he desired was a long, long night’s sleep. Minho almost laughed at how gullible they’d been, but decided he should respect their gullibility–it was the only thing that got him out of the castle, after all.

 This part of the city was beautiful, and Minho loved it more than anything else. The street lamps were tall, but the light still danced in the cobblestone streets. Minho hadn’t ever seen magic–didn’t _believe_ in magic–but the city filled him with a feeling that he thought must’ve been pretty close.

 It was late, but the streets were still full of life. Minho had only been through the city a couple of times, but he was almost certain it never truly slept. There were vendors on every corner, children running barefoot through patches of grass, music playing, people singing. There were a lot of things Minho disliked about his life–things he _hated_ about being a prince–but there was nothing he loved more than his kingdom, specifically this city.

 Every time he came out, he bought trinkets, he watched the children–the future of his kingdom–with a proud smile, and he picked flowers to bring back with him that withered in the dull light of his bedroom. Minho could relate to those flowers, yet he always picked new ones and placed them at his window, enjoying the way their bright colors lit up his life, even if it was for such a short amount of time. 

 But the thing he loved more than anything else was the dancing. He often stood to the side of circles gathered around couples, clapping to the beat as he watched their feet skip along the ground. Laughter filled the air, and he smiled with the group. He wished he knew how, wished he was carefree enough to join in.

 It wasn’t like he’d never danced before. He’d been to many balls and occasions. He’d even taken lessons. He knew the steps to almost every waltz, and he’d had countless partners. He knew he was good at sweeping effortlessly across a ballroom floor. But this was so much different. The music was fast, upbeat, something he only ever heard within the city walls.  He always got drunk on the music, and he loved the idea of _this_ kind of dancing, often finding that he wished he knew the steps. Sometimes he thought that maybe there _weren’t_ steps, and the people just followed where the music took them. He wished he knew how, wished he was carefree enough to join in.

 Tonight, he was determined. No matter what, he was going to dance. But he was nervous, so he started with what he knew–the vendors. He explored the tents, amazed at all of the things he didn’t even know could exist. There were little pouches and purses and trick cards that had Minho laughing loudly–something he never did. In the castle, it was always quiet smiles and polite nods.

 He took his time, going through each tent. At the last one, his eye caught on something. It was a ring, and it was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. A sapphire set in a silver band that wrapped around the gem in an intricate, unique design. He stared at it for a long time, eyes shifting to the vendor. “What’s this?” he asked, lightly touching it with one finger.

 The vendor raised an eyebrow. “A dragon’s eye,” he said, watching the way Minho looked at the item.

 Minho’s eyes shot up, bright and excited. He knew dragons didn’t exist, but he loved the idea, loved to play into the magic the people sold. “An eye of a dragon must be heavily expensive,” he said, a sly smile taking over his face. The vendor’s eyes widened, and Minho straightened up seriously. “How much?”

 The vendor leaned forward, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Do I know you?”

 Minho panicked a little, shifting back so his face fell into more shadow. He laughed lightly. “I don’t think so.”

 The vendor continued to look at him, and Minho saw the exact moment that he realized who Minho really was. The vendor leaned forward, curious. “Could it really be–”

 “The ring, sir,” Minho reminded politely. He plastered on a smile, hoping the vendor would get the hint that he didn’t want his identity revealed. He wasn’t a prince right now, he was just another person enjoying the magic of the city.

 The vendor nodded, staring wide-eyed at Minho. “For you?” he whispered. “Free. A gift, from my family to yours.”

 Minho hummed, looking behind the vendor to a small bed that was tucked at the back of the tent. A child was sleeping there, blonde hair falling into her face. He looked back at the vendor, smiling. “Can you tell me about the ring?”

 The vendor nodded once again, plucking the ring up from where it sat on a black cushion. “Her name is Nunbyeol. She’s said to bring you luck. She has a long history of wealthy and prosperous owners.” It wasn’t out of the ordinary for rings to be named, especially if they were old and were famous for whatever they brought to a person–whether it’s luck, courage, humility, or even love.

 Minho frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t need any wealth,” he said, looking up at the vendor. “But–do you really think she’ll really bring me luck?”  
   
 “Yes,” the vendor answered, and Minho could tell the man wasn’t lying. “Nunbyeol has been in our family for a long time,” he said fondly.

 “Then why sell her?” Minho asked, suddenly confused.

 “What?” the vendor said, nervously looking up at Minho.

 Minho gestured to the ring. “You said Nunbyeol has been in your family for a long time. Why sell her now?”

 The vendor smiled sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Ah,” he said. “Well, you see, things are... tight.” The man shook his head. “I don’t mean to give you a tragic story, Your Hig– _sir_. I genuinely believe Nunbyeol would find a good place with you. Maybe she could bring you the luck you desire.”

 Minho’s eyes softened. He reached into his pockets, pulling out a large sum of money from his pocket, knowing that he was about to seriously overpay. He grinned at the vendor, “Is this enough?”

 The vendor gasped, eyes wide as he took in the amount of money Minho had placed on the table. “ _Your Highness_ , I couldn’t–”

 “I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else,” Minho interrupted, winking at the man when he looked up, a disbelieving expression on his face. Minho smiled gently. “Take the money, it will never be enough for something as priceless as Nunbyeol.”

 He was rarely recognized within the city. He knew that the people had a general idea of what he looked like, but, for the most part, he was easy to overlook because of how scarce his public appearances were. Each time he did anything publicly, it was like they were seeing a new prince–and even then, it was often from afar, where no one could get a clear look at his face. Still, there was the occasional person who could recognize him, especially when he went around taking out large amounts of money that few in the city would have.  
   
 “Thank you, Your Hi–sir,” the vendor said, bowing repeatedly as he bagged the ring and handed it to Minho.

 Minho bowed back, graciously accepting the beautiful ring. “You have a great night,” he said, walking away. He pulled the ring out of the bag to admire it for a second. _Luck_ , he thought. He didn’t believe in luck. Minho rubbed his thumb over the gemstone, smiling. He didn’t believe in magic, either, but the city was always proving him wrong.

 He wandered the streets for a little longer, just following the cobblestone. He watched the people happily, proud that this was his kingdom. He’d always thought that, as a Prince or a King or whatever he may be, he shouldn’t rule _over_ the people, but _beside_ them. His parents hadn’t ever agreed though, too worried for his safety. Minho had always been escorted through the streets by guards or stuck in carriages. He hated feeling tied down, trapped in his own life.

 His thoughts were abruptly cut off when he bumped into someone. He felt a slight tug at his pocket, and he whipped around, quickly catching the wrist of the hand that had just been in his pocket, holding it up to see a hand clutched around the bag with the ring in it. Minho raised an eyebrow, taking in the stranger. His smirk widened when he realized just how beautiful he was, eyes roaming over wide, brown eyes and dark, messy hairy; this, coupled with a pretty flush on plump cheeks piqued Minho’s interest. He noticed how the stranger seemed to glow under the lamp light, pink mouth open in a surprised shape. “A thief?” Minho asked, eyes sliding to the stranger’s lips and back up to his eyes.

 The stranger flushed darker, trying to tug his wrist from Minho’s grasp, but Minho simply tightened his hold, curious. He’d never been so entranced with a stranger he’d seen on the street, but something about this particular boy took Minho’s breath away.

 The boy narrowed his eyes, giving up on trying to escape Minho’s grasp. “I’m not a thief,” he said indignantly.

 Minho raised his eyebrows in amusement. His other hand wandered up to the boy’s, slipping between his fingers to slide the bag with the ring in it out of his hand. He held it up in front of the boy’s face, watching as he cringed. “Oh, really?” he said. “Then what’s this?”

 “I–” the stranger started.

 “There’s no need to lie to me,” Minho said, softening a little. He released the boy’s hand, waiting for him to run, but he held his ground. Minho was rather impressed. Despite being caught, there wasn’t a hint of shame in the boy’s eyes. If anything, he looked as curious as Minho felt. “What’s your name?” Minho asked.  
   
 “What’s yours?” the boy shot back at him easily.

 “Really?” Minho said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not playing this game, otherwise we’ll be here all night.” He grinned mischievously. “Not that that would be such a terrible thing,” he added, looking him up and down again.

 The boy blushed again, bright and pretty, and Minho would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself. “Jisung,” the boy muttered, avoiding Minho’s eyes. “Han Jisung.”

 Minho grinned, tilting the boy’s chin up with a finger. “Cute,” he said.

 Jisung spluttered, pulling away. “Excuse me?” he hissed. “I’m– _no_ –” Jisung huffed again, after making sure there was enough distance between them that Minho couldn’t mess with him again. Minho noticed the bright flush on his face, an excited feeling fluttering through his chest. “You owe me your name now,” Jisung said, straightening up to gain some dignity.

 Minho hummed playfully. “I never told you I’d give you my name,” he said, enjoying the way Jisung’s eyes narrowed in frustration.

 “Well, if that’s all,” Jisung said. “You have a nice night.”

 Minho panicked, realizing that the boy was about to walk away, and, though Minho tended to be a flirt, Jisung was the only person he’d been genuinely interested in for too long. It wasn’t just because the boy was pretty–even though he _was_. Minho thought he could see magic of the city within him–eyes alive and cheeks ablaze–and Minho admired the bold look on his face as he met Minho’s eyes, something he rarely received. Usually people just went along with everything Minho said (except for his parents, but that was a different story). “Wait!” Minho called, reaching out and catching the boy by his wrist yet again.

 “Would you stop doing that?” Jisung hissed, tugging his hand away. He glanced around, then crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

 Minho blinked at the boy, trying to decide what he _did_ want. When he was quiet for too long, the boy rolled his eyes, about to leave for the second time that night. In Minho’s panic, the words “Do you know the city well?” fell from his mouth before he even realized he was saying something. He didn’t know _what_ he was saying, just that he _really_ didn’t want Han Jisung to leave yet.

 Jisung met his eyes evenly. “I grew up here,” he said, proud. “I probably know these streets better than anyone else.”

 Minho grinned, walking forward until he was close to the boy again, excitedly grabbing his hand. “Show me the city!” he pleaded, eyes wide and hopeful. “Please!”

 Jisung’s mouth dropped, obviously taken aback. He stared down at where Minho held his hand, then back up to his face. “No,” he said. “No way.”

 Minho frowned. “Why not?”

 Jisung scoffed, pulling his hand away yet again. Minho pouted at the loss of contact, but kept his distance as Jisung glared at him. “Why not?” Jisung repeated, tone haughty. “Because I tried to steal from you and, for some godforsaken reason, you won’t leave me alone now. Isn’t that a little weird to you?”

 Minho blinked, unphased. “No.”

 Jisung sighed, looking at him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but there is absolutely no way I’m showing you around the city.” He set his face into a stern expression. “None.”

 Minho’s face fell again, disappointed. He didn’t want the other boy to go, but he couldn’t keep him here if he so obviously didn’t want to stay. Minho was about to give up, but the boy had yet to leave, like he was waiting for Minho to say something else. If this was a game, it would be Minho’s move, but he was scared that he was about to lose. Minho was sure he was out of ideas, when he remembered the weight in his hands. He grinned, knowing that he was about to turn the tables–maybe he could win after all. He nodded to Jisung. “Hold out your hand.”

 Jisung gave him a cautious look, but held out his hand anyways. Minho opened the bag, placing the ring that was resided within it on Jisung’s palm. Minho grinned, watching Jisung’s eyes widen, shooting back and forth between Minho and the ring. “Her name is Nunbyeol, she brings luck,” Minho said, remembering what the vendor had told him.

 Jisung’s expression was wary as he turned the ring over in his hand.

 “Show me around the city,” Minho asked again, already sure of Jisung’s answer. “One night, and you can keep Nunbyeol.”

 Jisung narrowed his eyes. “How do you know I won’t just take... _Nunbyeol_ right now and run?” he said, the ring’s name rolling off his tongue unfamiliarly, doubtful.

 Minho shrugged. “You won’t,” he said.

 Jisung shook his head, disbelievingly. “Who are you?” he asked. Not for the first time–and, Minho knew, not for the last–Minho was entranced by Jisung’s eyes, beautiful under the street lamps, and shining with curiosity.

 Minho blinked, surprised. “Do you really not know?” he asked.

 “Should I?” Jisung responded, unconsciously leaning closer to inspect Minho’s face. Minho waited, holding his breath and forcing himself to stay still as Jisung’s eyes roamed Minho. After a long moment, Jisung shook his head.

 Minho laughed, giddy. “You really don’t know!” he said. He cut himself off, clearing his throat when Jisung fixed him with a strange look. “I’m sorry, I–” he paused, hesitant. “I’m Minho,” he said, purposefully leaving out his surname.

 “Minho,” Jisung said, and Minho’s heart skipped a beat at the way Jisung said his name, his voice sounding perfectly beautiful forming the word. Jisung looked once more at Nunbyeol, before he nodded. “Alright, Minho. You have a deal. I’ll show you the city, but just for the one night.”

 Minho nodded eagerly. “Just for the one night,” he assure him, plucking Nunbyeol from Jisung’s hands and tucking it back in his pocket. “Just in case,” he said when Jisung raised an eyebrow at him.

 Jisung rolled his eyes, but Minho saw a small smile play over his face. “Come on, then,” he said, looking back over his shoulder teasingly. Minho wondered if Jisung was figuring out how to play his game, and if he was trying to win. Nevertheless, his heart skipped a beat, and he smiled widely.

 “Just one more thing,” he said, stopping Jisung in his tracks.

 “Yes?”

 Minho ducked his head, shy for the first time that night. “You have to teach me to dance,” he said.

 Jisung’s eyes widened, surprised, then narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t know how to dance?”

 Minho glanced sadly down the street, at a particular group of people laughing and singing and moving about carelessly. “Not like that,” he muttered.

 For a second, he thought Jisung was going to refuse, but a sly smirk made its way over his face. “Easy,” he said.

 Minho’s heart fluttered again, and he grinned, excitement overtaking him as he ran a little to catch up to Jisung–something he never did, never felt the need to do. For some reason, he got the feeling there was going to be a lot of that tonight, and his grin widened, excited.

—

 The first place Jisung brought him seemed to be a small park, farther from the city’s night life. Here, it was quieter, and the lights from the street barely illuminated the grass. At first, Minho was confused, eyes wandering back to the bustling streets. But he followed Jisung into the park anyways, eyes catching as the grass seemed to glow–dew catching the moonlight.

 There was a noise getting louder as they walked further through the grass, the music and sounds from the city fading away into a chorus of noise. Jisung stopped right on the edge of a pond, gaze flickering to Minho as the latter’s eyes widened, kneeling at the edge to swirl his hands through the pool of water. Minho disturbed a frog that was resting near him, and he laughed, delighted, as the frog hopped into the glimmering pool and swam away.

 Minho grinned, a childish joy overtaking him as he looked at Jisung. “Is that the frogs?” he asked, referring to the noise that surrounded them.

 Jisung tilted his head, looking at Minho like he was trying to figure out if he was kidding or not. “The sound?” he asked. Minho nodded eagerly, in awe of it all as Jisung furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Yeah, that’s the frogs. You can hear them every night, when the city finally goes to sleep.”

 Jisung slid his jacket off, leaving him in a worn, flowing blue shirt, not too unalike Minho’s white one, and sat on top of his jacket. He leaned back at on his hands to watch as Minho absentmindedly slid his fingers through the water, listening to the frogs croak and watching how the water danced around his fingertips. Minho hummed in understanding, but didn’t say anything else. He didn’t know how to explain to Jisung that he’d never stayed in the city long enough to see the lights dim and the people rest, to hear it go so silent that the frogs’ songs drifted through the streets instead of the hurried, joyful music. He didn’t know how to explain that he was back in his own bed by then–a different world, without magic, where flowers died all too quickly on his windowsill, and he was too far away to really hear what a whole choir of frogs could sound like. 

 Minho straightened up, and Jisung watched him carefully, standing up like he was in a hurry to go to the next place. But Minho wasn’t ready yet. He kicked his shoes off, carefully placing his ring on the grass–just to tease Jisung. He then pulled his pants as high up his legs as he could. Jisung raised his eyebrows at Minho, a twinkle of amusement swimming in his eyes, and Minho wondered if they, too, glowed because of the moonlight.

 He forced himself to turn away. Instead, he hesitantly stepped into the pond, laughing joyously as the mud and grass beneath his feet squished. He splashed carelessly in until the water was almost up to his knees, and, despite the care he took to keep his pants dry, the water had soaked through the bottom. Still, he turned to Jisung, smiling in a way that showed all his teeth. “You should come in!” he called, playfully splashing a bit of the water at Jisung.

 Jisung jumped back, huffing. “I haven’t played in this pond since I was a kid,” he called back.

 Minho frowned, looking at the water swirling around him. The moon was reflected in the ripples, making the water look pure, crystal almost. He’d never played in a pond–his childhood years were filled with strict lessons and important meetings. He looked back at the younger boy, looking into the pond skeptically, a sad expression on his face. “Maybe that’s the problem, Jisung.”

 Jisung narrowed his eyes. “You look like a siren,” he said, avoiding what Minho was insinuating. “Are you trying to lure me to my death, Minho?”

 Minho spun around in the water a little, enjoying the mud between his toes and getting his clothes wet. He was breaking so many rules–he’d never felt this free. He locked eyes with Jisung, a wicked smirk taking over his face. He came out of the pond, and Jisung must have seen the look on his face, because the younger boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head rapidly, about to bolt. He was too late though, because Minho caught his hands easily, backing up slowly until he reached the water again.

 Jisung laughed–a short, high-pitched giggle. It was bright and loud, and Minho loved the sound more than anything he’d ever heard–more than the frogs, more than the music in the streets. He continued pulling Jisung until he stumbled back, both of them tumbling into the water. Jisung spluttered, collapsing on top of Minho and trying to keep his upper body above the surface, but Minho laughed again, locking his arms around Jisung and rolling them over, tugging him down until they were both soaked head to toe. When Jisung finally escaped Minho’s grip, the latter was still cackling. Jisung fixed him with a glare, but it didn’t cover the small smile on his face. “You must be a siren,” he said.

 Minho hummed, looking up at Jisung through his eyelashes in a way he knew was more than a little seductive. “Beautiful? Irresistible?” he suggested.

 “Fucking deadly,” Jisung bit back, blushing. He covered it by splashing Minho.

 The swear word caught Minho off-guard. No one in the castle swore, but the word came so easily from Jisung’s lips it was almost pretty. Minho laughed again, whispering, “Fuck,” and Jisung looked at him like he was insane.

 He splashed the younger, revenge for his earlier attack, then yelled, “Fuck!”

 “What the–what the _hell_?” Jisung gaped, wading through the pond to get away from the continuous waves of water Minho kept sending at him. “Are you crazy?” Jisung hissed, but the words didn’t hold any venom.

 Minho sighed, wistful. He leaned back to float, careless that it was still early in the night and he was drenched. He focused on the moon above him, at peace. “Just for tonight,” he said, tilting his head to look at Jisung.

 The boy rolled his eyes, then crossed his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded, stubborn.

 Minho stood up again, wobbling a little bit as the water whisked around him. “Nothing, Jisungie,” he responded, enjoying how the younger boy stuttered and blushed over the nickname. He could tell he was about to say something, so Minho began to wade out of the water, turning back to ask if Jisung was going to come or not, only to find Jisung pointedly looking away, puffy cheeks pink. “What is it, Jisungie?” he asked. He had no intentions of dropping the nickname, now that he knew what kind of reaction it enticed.

 Jisung’s eyes flickered to him, then away again. He hid a laugh behind his hand. “It’s just–your shirt,” Jisung said, failing to hide his chuckles, even as he was blushing.

 Minho looked down and, sure enough, his white shirt was completely see-through, the thin fabric clinging to his upper body, easily showing the outline of his torso. He knew he was attractive, had always been confident with his looks, and he couldn’t help enjoying the reaction this got from Jisung. Minho smirked, lifting an eyebrow at Jisung. He stretched his arms out, placing his arms behind his head casually in a way he knew exposed his chest. “Like what you see?”

 Jisung stopped laughing abruptly, trying to cover it with a cough. “No, actually you look ridiculous, hyung.”

 Minho’s smirk only widened. “Hyung, huh?”  
   
 Realizing his mistake, Jisung’s eyes widened. “I–”

 Minho rolled his eyes, forcibly stopping himself from cooing at how cute Jisung looked when he was embarrassed. He nodded to Jisung, who was still in the water, gaping at him. “Are you going to stay in there all night?”

 Jisung glanced down, apparently just realizing he was still waist deep in the pond, before he waded out, cringing at his wet clothing. He shot a glare at Minho. “You’re infuriating.”

 Minho met his glare evenly, smiling innocently. “You’re cute,” he said.

 Jisung only scowled harder, averting his gaze to stalk up the grass and pick up his coat. He glanced at it almost longingly before he tossed it at Minho, biting back a laugh when it landed over Minho’s face. “Put it on,” he told him.

 Minho pulled the jacket off his head, feeling the thin fabric between his fingers, and glancing at Jisung curiously. “Don’t you need it?” he said. “It might get cold.”

 Jisung’s eyes wandered down Minho’s torso before they forced their way back to his face. “Please–for my sanity, put it on.”

 Minho beamed, feeling like this was a small victory. He slid the jacket over his shoulders. It had been a little big on Jisung, but it fit him almost perfectly. It wasn’t in very good condition, Minho noticed, but pulled it close to him anyways. He’d worn extravagant clothing before, jackets laced with jewels and pearls, silk–you name it. But, wearing Jisung’s worn jacket, he felt like it was actually worth something.

 Minho smiled warmly, then glanced down at the younger boy’s feet, barking out a laugh. “I’ll buy you new shoes.”

 Jisung followed Minho’s eyes, to his shoes, which were covered in mud, water seeping through. He blinked at his feet, then rolled his eyes. “Hyu–you really don’t have to do that,” he said, clearing his throat to cover the fact that he’d almost said _hyung_ again.

 “I insist. Where are we going next?” he asked, tugging Jisung along like he was going to lead the way, listening to Jisung’s short laugh behind him.

—

 “Jisungie, when are we going to _dance_ ,” Minho whined, tugging lightly on Jisung’s shirt.

 They’d changed, Minho had insisted on buying them both clean, dry clothes, but Jisung was determined to keep his own shirt, the bottom only a little damp from the pond. They were both wearing black pants, the thick fabric tight, and Minho would be lying if he said he didn’t check out Jisung, the boy blushing as he met Minho’s eyes after changing. Minho knew his eyes must have darkened, dragging slowly over Jisung. The younger had hissed something along the lines of _stop staring_ , and Minho had shamelessly grinned.

 Jisung rolled his eyes, tugging his arm from Minho’s grip. That seemed to be a running theme with them–Minho was rather clingy, and Jisung avoided his touch like it was scalding. He even tended to walk multiple steps away from Minho, which the older didn’t really mind–he kind of liked chasing after someone for a change. And the longer the night went on, the more Minho thought Jisung was someone worth chasing after. Minho was careful to make sure the younger wasn’t actually uncomfortable. There were a couple of occasions where Jisung would linger a little too long before he pulled away from Minho, fingers brushing, or when he turned to look at him, eyes bright and teasing. Minho wasn’t sure where to place Jisung; one second, he was blushing and shoving him away, the next he was grinning and dragging him back in–it seemed more that Jisung enjoyed their little game, the push and pull.

 Jisung broke his thoughts by turning to him, a mischievous smile twinkling under the lampposts. “It’s too early in the night for dancing,” he said. “The best dancing is right before dawn, when half the city is too tired to move and the other half is too moved to be tired.”

 Minho nodded slowly. That was late–he was always long gone by that time. On his few journeys to the city, he’d always left rather early in the night, knowing he had to be back in his bed before dawn. He frowned. He wouldn’t be able to stay for the dancing, by that time he will have picked his flowers and disappeared from the city, hoping it would both forget and remember him. Disappointment settled deep in his chest. He didn’t want to leave the city–or Jisung, really–but he knew he was going to have to.

 His mood dampened, and he didn’t even realize he was trudging along slower, not keeping pace with Jisung, and frowning at the ground.

 Jisung slowed to a stop, giving him a careful, hesitant look. He must’ve decided on something, because he nudged Minho, smiling softly. “Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

 Minho glanced over at Jisung, sighing. He couldn’t really tell Jisung everything–he’d been enjoying the fact that Jisung didn’t know who he was, that he treated him like any other person he tried to pickpocket on the street. He forced a smile. “Nothing, just thinking.”

 Jisung furrowed his eyebrows. “About what?”

 Shaking his head, Minho continued walking. “Nothing important. But I do actually have a question,” he added at the end, glancing at Jisung curiously.

 “What is it?” Jisung asked slowly, his expression wary.

 “Why did you try to pickpocket me?” Minho asked. He knew his tone was calm, patient, and he didn’t sound mad. He shoved his hands in his pockets, purposefully brushing his arm against Jisung’s, just to see the boy blush and shift to the side just the slightest bit.

 Jisung rubbed the back of his neck. “I was kind of hoping that wouldn’t come up,” he said honestly, laughing sheepishly. “I’m not really proud of it, but–”

 “You’re a thief?” Minho finished for him, raising an eyebrow playfully.

 “No!” Jisung huffed. “I just... occasionally... dabble in the art of–”

 “Thievery,” Minho clarified.

 “Would you stop that?” Jisung said, annoyed. “I’m not a thief. You just do what you have to, okay? You wouldn’t get it.”

 Minho stopped, glaring at him. “I wouldn’t?” he said, trying to tamp down his frustration.

 Jisung rolled his eyes. “Please, you’re not fooling anyone with your nice leather shoes and glittering earring and pretty face, okay? You probably have no idea what it’s like to struggle to survive.”

 Minho grit his teeth, turning his face away. “I may have money,” he said, slow and poisonous. Jisung met his glare evenly, almost like a challenge. “But that has nothing to do with survival.”

 “I’m sure it helps,” Jisung fired back, turning on his heel to strut away.

 Minho grabbed his hand, pulling him back until he was dangerously close to the younger, and if he wasn’t so frustrated right now, he would’ve been so tempted. He held Jisung there, making sure he couldn’t walk away from him, ignoring the furious look on Jisung’s face. “I don’t give a _shit_ about money,” he said, emphasizing every word. He sighed when Jisung flinched a little, tugging at his hand, and Minho released him, feeling guilty for his outburst. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, glancing away from Jisung’s eyes.

 Jisung glared at him with every bit of the fire that Minho had noticed and loved when he first met him. “Yeah, well when _money_ is the only thing that can keep you alive, maybe you and your stupid luck ring might understand.”

 Minho ran a hand down his face, then ruffled his hair, ignoring, for once, the way it probably stood up and was mussed in a very unprincely manner. “You don’t understand, Jisung,” he said sadly, staring at the ground–at the space in between them. Why did he always end up with so much _space_ between people? “I’ve never had–” he gestured all around them “– _this_. I never got to play in the pond or make music or dance in the streetlights. My whole life has been controlled for me, since day one. Fuck, I can’t even pick out what I eat for breakfast. Who would want that kind of life?” Minho was breathing heavily, the words coming easily, pouring out of his mouth with a fire that he didn’t even know he had. “My parents don’t even talk to me, unless it’s to berate me. And I can’t have any _contacts_ with people, or leave my own room half the time because they’re all so terrified that the leash around my neck isn’t quite tight enough and they’re all trying to figure out ways to tighten it more and I just want to fucking _breathe_ –” Minho hadn’t even realized he was crying until Jisung was pulling him in to a tight hug, hushing him softly.

 Grateful that they were hidden on the side of the street, away from the crowd, Minho sobbed wetly into Jisung’s shoulder, tucking his face into the curve of Jisung’s neck. The latter shivered, but didn’t let him go, just ran his hands over his back slowly. Minho hadn’t really cried since he was a young boy–it wasn’t _appropriate_ behavior for a prince. But Minho also didn’t think he’d been held–truly held, for no other reason than to comfort–in just as long. When he quieted down, Jisung pulled back, and Minho whimpered softly, not wanting to lose the warmth of the other boy. Jisung softly brushed his tears away, frowning at Minho’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 Minho laughed wetly, regaining enough of his dignity to unclench his hands from the back of Jisung’s shirt and step back, wiping the rest of his tears himself. “It’s not like it’s your fault,” he said.

 “No, I’m sorry for not realizing before,” Jisung said, his voice almost far away as he looked at Minho. There was a change in the way Jisung looked at him, and Minho didn’t like it, shrinking a little under the gaze. Jisung broke their stare, bowing his head a little. “Prince Minho,” he mumbled, avoiding his gaze almost guiltily.

 Minho blinked, his heart dropping. Jisung was smart, and Minho had given too much away. He looked around him, panicked, but no one had heard Jisung. He quickly reached forward, using one finger to tilt Jisung’s chin up. Although there was a new guard to his expression, he found the familiar fire–the rebellious glint–in his eyes, and he desperately wanted to fuel that, for Jisung to forget who Minho was. “Please, don’t do that,” he said.

 Jisung smiled sadly, almost bitter. “I have to. You are my prince, aren’t you?”

 “I didn’t want you to know,” Minho insisted, hating the new wall Jisung was steadily building between them. “I–I don’t want any of this to be just because I’m your prince,” Minho added quietly, looking at the ground. “I don’t want anything to change.”

 “Except everything’s changed,” Jisung snapped, before catching himself. He took a deep breath, refusing to look at Minho as he ran a hand through his hair. “God–I tried to _steal from you_. You could’ve had me imprisoned for that,” Jisung said.  
   
 Minho opened his mouth, about to protest that he would never have done that, but Jisung’s dark glare cut him off.

 “And now I know you’re not supposed to be out of the castle, and the fact that _I’m_ the one leading you through the streets?” Jisung laughed bitterly. “A useless thief? And, fuck, if I’d _danced_ with you–the King and Queen would have my head.”

 Minho looked up, alarmed. “That would never happen!”  
   
 Jisung’s eyes sharpened, and he glared at Minho again, as if he suddenly forgot about the respect he’d previously been giving him. “Right. Because I’m sure they’d approve of you dancing through the city and splashing in ponds with a dirty little thief,” Jisung laughed bitterly. “What were you _thinking_?”

 Minho set his jaw, staring directly into Jisung’s eyes. “I was thinking that I’ve never had any freedom,” he said. “And that I love this city more than anything, and I wanted to spend just one night in it. That I wanted to learn to dance and play and love and be normal for a night.”

 “You’re a prince,” Jisung hissed. “You don’t get to be normal.”

 Minho froze, the words seeming to pierce his chest. It was enough to think it, enough to be raised knowing he didn’t get to be normal, but, coming from Jisung, it was all the more painful. “You think I don’t know that?” he spat back, heart aching. “Why do you think I’m _here_? Just–” Minho took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He pushed away the ache, his pain, and met Jisung’s eyes. “Just for tonight.” Jisung looked doubtful, frowning at him, so Minho widened his eyes, pouting. “Please, Jisungie?”

 Jisung crossed his arms, turning his head. “This is a terrible idea, but...” he sighed, glancing at the desperate look on Minho’s face. “Fine. But I think we should set some boundaries.”

 Minho blinked, straightening up. “Like what?”

 Jisung threw his hands in the air, suddenly flustered, and Minho had to tuck his smile into his hand. “Like–like you touching me constantly, for example!” he said, cheeks flaming.

 “Hey, _you_ hugged _me_ ,” Minho said, shrugging nonchalantly.

 “That–that’s irrelevant,” Jisung spluttered. “You were crying, it doesn’t count.”

 Minho hummed. “It was nice.”

 “That!” Jisung said, raising his voice a little. “That’s off limits, too.”

 “What?” Minho asked innocently.

 “Saying stuff like that,” Jisung clarified, stern. He held up his hand, counting off as he began to list. “No calling me ‘cute’, no pouting, and _no_ looking at me with those–those eyes,” he said, nodding his head like that all made perfect sense.

 Minho pouted, already breaking one of the rules. “These are my eyes, Jisungie. I can’t change them.”

 “And no ‘Jisungie’,” Jisung added, pointing at him.

 “You’re no fun,” Minho whined. “Will you at least call me hyung?”

 Jisung blinked for a second, frozen in shock. “You–you actually want me to call you hyung?”

 Minho grinned. “Yeah, I’m trying to keep my identity a secret, remember? It’ll help if you’re not saying my name,” he said. To be honest, he was lying. He just wanted Jisung to call him ‘hyung’ because he liked the sense of familiarity and closeness that the title implied. But the logic was sound, and he couldn’t help holding his breath as Jisung thought it over.

 “Fine,” Jisung groaned.

 Minho silently cheered. It was strange how he could go from fighting Jisung, to crying, to being overwhelmingly happy again–all in the course of a couple of minutes. He was rarely allowed to be this emotional, so he figured it was alright, even if it felt a bit like everything was moving around him all too fast, and he was just trying to keep up. Minho had always been an emotional person, and repressing his feelings was difficult. It was surprisingly easy to allow the dam to break, but harder to rebuild it. He wondered if, after tonight, he would ever be the same again when he had to go back to the castle.

 He shook his head, trying to ignore that thought for as long as possible, and looked up playfully at Jisung. “You called me pretty.”

 The younger’s eyes widened. “I did not!” he spluttered. “When?”

 Minho smirked, fluttering his eyelashes purposefully, enjoying the way Jisung pursed his lips and looked away. “When you were yelling at me,” he said. Jisung flinched, looking guilty, but Minho waved his hand to show him he wasn’t upset. “You said something about my expensive shoes and my earring and my _pretty face._ ”

 Jisung’s jaw clenched, and Minho _loved_ it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

 Minho giggled, bright and excited. “You think I’m pretty!”  
   
 Jisung’s eyes flashed. “ _Hyung_ , the rules,” he reminded him.

 Minho nodded in mock seriousness. “Right. Starting now.” He paused, looking around. The city had simply carried on around them, ignoring them like they weren’t even there. Oddly, Minho loved that–he hated always being the center of attention. He blinked at Jisung, watching the city fondly next to him, and smiled softly. Maybe if he was just the center of attention for _one_ person–he huffed, breaking his own thoughts off, then spoke, “Where to next?”

 Jisung looked thoughtful for a second, before he smiled widely. “I have the perfect idea,” he said, before he began to walk off. He wasn’t moving for long, however, before he turned to Minho again, a sudden mischievous smirk playing over his face. Minho loved it–loved the way Jisung easily sank back into his normal self, messing with Minho in a way that made his heart race, in a way that no one else had ever dared to. “Hold out your hand,” he said.

 Minho raised his eyebrow, complying way too quickly. Jisung reached forward, cupping the back of Minho’s hand with one of his own, and dropping something into Minho’s open palm, before closing his fingers around it. He leaned in, and Minho froze, realizing the closeness was very different when he wasn’t in control. He watched Jisung’s smirk widen as Minho got flustered, the tables having turned in the younger’s favor. When Jisung’s lips were right next to Minho’s ear, he whispered, “You should keep a better eye on that, my prince.” Minho shivered. “There are a lot of thieves in these streets.”

 Jisung pulled away, looking satisfied with himself as he turned around once again.

 Cheeks red, Minho called after him, “Right, so it’s only okay when you do it? What about the rules, Jisung?”

 Jisung shot a grin over his shoulder, cackling. “Try to keep up, _hyung_. It’s going to be a long night.”

 Minho’s head spun, and he watched Jisung as he danced up the street, the people around him moving as if he wasn’t even there, but Minho’s eyes refused to leave the younger’s figure. Jisung wove through the people with a practiced ease, and Minho never wanted to look away. Jisung turned and met his eye, a question on his face, as if he was asking if Minho was going to come or not.

 Minho looked down at his hand, unfurling his fingers to see that Jisung had placed the bag that contained the ring in it in his hand. He blinked, pulling Nunbyeol out and staring at it for a long minute, shocked. When did Jisung get hold of the ring? He laughed out loud, meeting Jisung’s eyes again, seeing the challenge in them. God, Minho was so _gone_. He grinned, tightening the bag’s strings and tying it to his pants, before tucking the actual bag in his pocket.

 He walked back up to Jisung, confident. “Try to get it now,” he said, winking.

 Jisung blushed, slowly dragging his eyes down Minho’s body to the bag in his pocket. He blinked, looking away quickly. “Maybe I will,” he muttered. He was still flushed–proof that he hadn’t completely gotten used to Minho’s game, but was trying to keep up.

 Minho laughed, excited. “What got into you?” he asked, teasing. Jisung’s attitude had turned around, especially after he’d just set rules that basically disabled Minho’s flirting. Why did Jisung seem more confident now that he knew who Minho was?

 Jisung shook his head. “Nothing. You’re right, we should go,” he suggested, trying, and failing to regain his composure. “I mean, you do only have the one night, right?” He looked at the older boy, and, if Minho didn’t know any better, he would think that Jisung’s eyes were almost sad.

 Minho nodded, thinking that there was something Jisung hadn’t said, but didn’t really need to.

—  
        
 After their argument, something changed between them. Minho adhered to Jisung’s rules the best he could, keeping his hands to himself (for the most part), and only flirting when he couldn’t help it. For instance, the first thing they did after their argument was go get food. Minho quickly learned that Jisung’s appetite was insatiable, but it was fun to watch the younger boy eat. He had a habit of filling his cheeks with food, smiling brightly at Minho (probably, Minho speculated, because Minho had been the one to _buy_ the food). When Minho had muttered “Cute”, however, Jisung’s smile dropped into a pout, quickly morphing into a glare. Minho didn’t say anything else after that.

 However, this didn’t stop _Jisung’s_ sudden fascination with flustering Minho. The latter was starting to think he had a problem with authority–he thought that Jisung enjoyed taking Minho down a notch. It was a different kind of push and pull now, and Minho was a little lost in it, yet he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Jisung seemed to be torn between the natural conversation and easy flow of their flirting, almost effortlessly keeping up with Minho’s humor and quips, and the realization that Minho was a prince and nothing about this was normal.

 They walked down the street in comfortable silence. Minho wasn’t sure whether he was surprised or not to find that Jisung seemed to be gravitating towards him, letting their arms brush against each other as they walked.

 Minho froze, grabbing hold of Jisung’s shirt sleeve as they passed a small, modest tent with an abundance of flowers. “Wait!” he said, gasping when he saw all of the colors and petals that looked soft, even from where he was standing.

 Jisung frowned, confused, and he looked past Minho at the flower stand. He blinked at Minho, then cocked his head in a way that Minho couldn’t help think was perfectly adorable. “You want flowers, hyung?” he asked. Minho nodded his head, suddenly shy, and Jisung glanced at the flowers again, not understanding. “What’s the point? They’ll just die in a couple of days.”  
   
 Minho smiled sadly, still looking at the flowers. “But they’re so beautiful,” he said softly. He looked back at Jisung, pulling his hand from Jisung’s shirt sleeve. “It’s my tradition. I buy flowers every time I come to the city and bring them back with me.”

 Jisung still looked doubtful. “How long do they usually live?”

 Minho looked at the flowers wistfully. “Sometimes a week, if I’m careful,” he said. “I try to keep them around as long as possible, they remind me of the city, of the nights I spend out of the castle. They remind me that there’s a little bit of hope, and they make me smile.” Minho chanced a glance at Jisung, who was looking at him with wide eyes. “It sounds dumb, I know, but–”

 “No,” Jisung said cutting him off quickly, and shaking his head. He gave Minho a bright, comforting smile. There was a look in Jisung’s eyes that Minho couldn’t place, but it looked an awful lot like fondness, but sadder. “It doesn’t sound dumb. It’s beautiful.”

 Minho grinned shyly, glancing at the flowers once again. Jisung came up behind him, too close, and peered over his shoulder. Minho could feel the heat of his breath against his neck, and when he suppressed a shudder, he saw Jisung’s smile widen from the corner of his eye. “What’s your favorite flower?” he whispered.

 “Sunflowers,” he breathed, suddenly unable to think about the flowers with Jisung’s proximity. “They last the longest.”

 Jisung hummed in acknowledgment, reaching around him to thumb lightly at one of the flowers. Minho’s breath hitched, and he wondered if Jisung knew what he was doing. To anyone else, it would’ve looked normal, but the younger was driving Minho absolutely crazy. His questions were answered when Jisung chuckled lightly near his ear–he definitely knew what he was doing.

 “We should come back, closer to the end of the night,” Jisung said. “They’re too delicate to carry around–especially if you want to dance.”

 Minho looked at him in surprise. “We’re still going to dance?”

 Jisung rolled his eyes, hiding a grin. “Of course,” he said. “That’s the biggest thing you wanted, right? Besides, you’ve probably had a stick up your ass your whole life, so someone–”

 “Han Jisung!” Minho gasped, faking anger. “I’m your _hyun_ –” he huffed, realizing Jisung was cackling at him. “Respect your elders!”

 Jisung laughed, careless and free, and Minho couldn’t help but smile, even as he forced himself to glare at Jisung, then proceeded to chase him down the street. Jisung shrieked, running away, but he continued to laugh, swerving through the people almost professionally, while Minho stumbled and struggled not to slam into anyone. He received several scowls and strange looks, but he’d never cared less in his life.

 He felt free.

 He finally caught up to Jisung in a grassy clearing, realizing that Jisung had led him to an area just outside of the city, where there were less people lingering about. Jisung stopped, and turned to meet him, and Minho laughed a little, feeling triumphant as he tackled Jisung to the ground.

 He giggled even louder when he pinned Jisung down, sitting on top of his hips and holding his hands down. “Got you. I win!” he cheered.

 Jisung didn’t laugh, his eyes were suddenly serious as he gazed up at Minho. “You win,” he whispered, not even trying to move away.

 Minho blinked, just realizing that he was breathing heavily from the run. But something told him his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. He blinked down at Jisung, terrified of the abrupt change between them, the air around them suddenly warmer, charged with something Minho hadn’t felt before, despite who he’d been with. Minho breathed out. His hands slid from Jisung’s wrists, watching his reactions carefully, tentatively, as he reached up to lace his fingers with Jisung’s, which also brought his face closer to Jisung’s. His breath hitched. “Did you mean to bring me here?” he murmured.

 Wide eyed, Jisung nodded.

 Minho smiled, light and teasing. “What are we doing here?”

 “Looking up,” Jisung breathed. When Minho gave him a confused look, Jisung smiled softly. “When was the last time you just... looked at the stars?”

 Minho’s gaze roamed around Jisung’s face before he settled on Jisung’s eyes, and he thought that he was looking at the stars right then–and they were gleaming back at him like he was the only thing in the universe. “A long time,” he whispered. His chest tightened and he’d never been more scared and excited in his whole life.

 He really wanted to kiss Jisung. He wanted to see his eyes widen, then flutter shut. He wanted to see his cheeks flush and run his hands through his hair until it was a perfect mess, then again, for good measure. He wanted to leave his lips red, parted and raw. He wanted Jisung to lean up and drag him back in when he pulled away.

 Worst of all, when he looked at Jisung, he was almost certain that he wanted the same things.

 “Minho, I–”

 Minho sighed, ducking his head so he couldn’t see the look on Jisung’s face, forehead resting on his chest. Jisung’s heart pounded, as fast as his own. “I think we’re breaking your rules, Jisungie.”

 Jisung laughed beneath him, almost bitter. “I think we’re breaking a lot of rules, my prince,” he said. The words were spoken softly, sadly, the implication settling over them both like a heavy blanket–suffocating.

 Minho rolled over, laying in the grass beside Jisung. He glared up at the night sky–beautiful and endless–and he wondered why it had to be this way. If things were different–if he weren’t a prince, or if they’d met under different circumstances–if Jisung weren’t a _boy–_ maybe they’d have a chance. Angry tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t help who he loved. Why didn’t he deserve a happy ending, too? Why didn’t he get to dance and sing and play in ponds and fall in love with a beautiful boy that reminded him of the sunflowers that refused to wilt on his windowsill?

 He hadn’t realized he was crying until Jisung scooted closer, knuckles brushing against the back of Minho’s hand. “Hyung, are you crying?” he whispered.

 “No,” Minho whimpered through a muffled sob. He brought a hand up to his mouth to stifle his cries.

 Jisung didn’t look at him, only continued to watch the same sky. Slowly, his hand wrapped around Minho’s again, this time holding tight, hidden between their bodies. Minho cried harder. “It’s okay to cry, hyung,” Jisung mumbled softly, thumb stroking across the back of his hand. “The stars are really beautiful.”

 “Yeah, they are,” Minho responded, voice choked.

—

 After Minho calmed down, they talked. Minho couldn’t remember ever feeling this natural and at ease with anybody. After a while, his mouth was dry from talking so much, but he kept talking, because Jisung was paying attention and genuinely enjoying what Minho was saying.

 Minho told him about his life at the castle, how he’d grown up. He told him that when he was young, he used to slide down the freshly polished hallways in his socks until he got caught. He told him all of the things he’d learned–languages, literature, math–and how none of that compared to his desire to learn how to dance like the people in the city did. He told Jisung, in a quiet voice, about how scared he was to rule.

 He even told him about how strict his parents were. “They caught me with a boy once,” he whispered, the words leaving his mouth without his permission. The night stole them away and kept them for its own. Yet, he continued. “They sent him away and didn’t talk to me for weeks. Couldn’t even look at me. It was like I didn’t exist.” Minho hesitated. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t.” Jisung’s breath had hitched at that, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to–the way his fingers tightened around Minho’s spoke volumes.

 Minho listened, too. He loved Jisung’s stories. He told him all about his friends–all of which he swore were worse troublemakers than himself. He told him about the days he’d spent in the city when he was growing up, weaving wildly through the streets and taking what he could find. He said he was truly the city’s son, that he was raised by the buildings and the dancing and the hot sun.

 Jisung told him that his parents had both died when he was very young, both from the same disease that hadn’t claimed him. “For the longest time,” he’d said, honest and vulnerable under the starlight. “I hated them for leaving me. But I hated myself more for not being able to follow them.” At this, Minho pulled Jisung into his arms and held him for a long time, until Jisung assured him that it was okay. That he was okay.

 Minho listened to everything Jisung had to say, eager to hear more. Jisung talked with his whole body. He could easily turn a dull story into the biggest event of a lifetime. His eyes would light up when he spoke, his voice expressive, and his hands narrating actions that his voice couldn’t quite articulate. And Minho loved every second of it.  
   
 Minho pointed out all the constellations he knew and had learned about, and Jisung laughed, then created his own, making up stories to match them. “You see that one there?” he’d said, using his free hand to trace a vague shape in the cluster of stars. “It’s a flattened frog trying to march.”

 Minho let out a sharp laugh at that. “That’s Ursa Major. It’s supposed to be a bear.”

 Jisung tilted his head thoughtfully, frowning. “Hmm, a flattened _horse_ trying to march...?”

 Minho laughed again, and Jisung grinned when he hit his shoulder playfully.

 When their voices died down and Minho’s eyes grew heavy, Jisung turned to look at him. Minho wondered how he must look–hair askew and eyes puffy from crying. Jisung grinned at him, sitting up and crossing his legs in the grass. “Are you tired?” he asked.

 Minho blinked slowly, sitting up as well. “Yes,” he answered, his voice a little rough from how much he’d talked and his sudden exhaustion. He leaned forward thoughtlessly, brushing some grass out of Jisung’s hair lightly. He stopped himself right before he could do something stupid.

 (Like run his hands through his hair. Or kiss him.)

 “Then it’s time to dance,” Jisung said.

—

 Excitement was the best energizer.

 He quickly forgot about the exhaustion that had previously overtaken him as Jisung led him into the city once again–his fingers laced with his own until they were right outside the city walls, where he hesitated for a second, before sliding his hand away. Minho missed the warmth, but he kept quiet, because he knew there was nothing he could say. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they couldn’t be seen. Besides, it was just for the night.

 Jisung was right about this being the perfect time to dance. The majority of the crowd had cleared up, and all the people left were younger, full of life and energy like it was still early in the night as opposed to barely an hour away from sunrise.

 Minho gasped, in awe as he took it all in. It was somehow different. He’d seen the streets come to life before, and he’d been watching the people dance for longer than he could remember, yearning to be a part of it. Now, it was so much more real, and it struck him in a way it hadn’t before. His heart swelled, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt this whole–this happy–before. He turned his gaze to Jisung, realizing that he was already looking at him.

 Jisung’s eyes softened, and he nodded towards the group. “Are you ready to dance?” he asked, beginning to lead the way to the music.

 Minho grabbed his hand to stop him, suddenly panicked. What if it wasn’t what he’d always hoped? What if he wasn’t any good? What if he was only meant for a slow, basic waltz and the confines of a ballroom dance floor?

 His heart beat fast, and he struggled to catch his breath. This was about so much more than dancing. If he let himself have this freedom–would he ever be able to go back to his life? Would he ever find this feeling again? He thought about his room, how he felt suffocated and trapped in his life. Here, nothing was set in stone. Everything was possible, and his life wasn’t laid out for him in a neat pile in the morning and tied around his neck to choke him at night. “I can’t do it,” he said, voice shaking.

 Jisung frowned, walking back to him with a worried expression. Minho dropped his hand after another moment of hesitation, backing up. “What’s wrong?” Jisung asked, eyes searching Minho’s terrified face. “This is what you’ve always wanted.” Jisung looked confused, and Minho couldn’t stop _shaking_.

 “Jisung, I–” he paused, trying to take a deep breath. “I’m _scared_.” And he hated it, because he wasn’t supposed to _get_ scared.

 Jisung smiled softly at him, ignoring the people around them, and grabbed his hand again. He started walking them towards the dancing, eyes never leaving Minho’s. “Hyung, it’s just dancing.”

 Minho swallowed. “What if it’s not everything I dreamed it to be?”

 “You won’t know until you do it,” Jisung said, continuing to pull him towards the dancing. “It’s just dancing, hyung,” he repeated. When they were on the outside of the circle, Jisung stared at him for a long moment before he smiled. Minho’s heart caught, and he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen–more beautiful than the stars, more beautiful than the sunflowers, even. Jisung tilted his head, that same smile on his face lighting up his eyes. It was an unspoken question. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

 Minho’s breath hitched, and he’d never felt so much emotion at once in his life. He wanted to tell Jisung how he felt, but he didn’t even know how he’d put it into words. How could he tell someone he’d just met that he never wanted to leave his side? That he’d experienced more things in one night than he had in his whole life time? He’d never smiled or cried or laughed so much before, and he never wanted to stop _feeling_.

 He opened his mouth to try to tell Jisung any of this, but he only managed to get “Jisung–” out before the boy in question was pulling him into the throng of dancing people.

 Any thought left his mind the second he was pulled into the mess of people. It was like there was an invisible threshold between the dancers and the bystanders–here, the music was more vibrant, the laughter louder, Jisung’s smile brighter as he continued to pull him in. Here, there was real magic.

 For a second, Minho was frozen, just trying to take everything in. It was overwhelming. But Jisung kept a tight grip on his hands, beginning to move them around the circle of people, light and to the beat.

 Then Minho began to move independently. He was right–there were no steps to the dancing, but he followed the beat like he was made to do it. It was easier than breathing.

 And he _loved_ it.

 Everyone danced with everyone. There was a sense of inclusion and belonging that Minho hadn’t felt before. He barely had a chance to realize he was being pulled away from Jisung as they moved. He sent Jisung a worried look, receiving a quick laugh back, full of joy and happiness. Minho decided to let go, and he just _danced_.

 His hands passed through other’s, the music entrancing. He must’ve danced with at least ten different people, each one smiling encouragingly. He remembered why he loved his city so much. It had nothing to do with the run down walls or the sun that beamed down on them endlessly–but everything to do with his people. He loved the energy, the warmth that radiated from every single person. Here, there was a sense of life and love and inclusion that he knew he wanted to be a part of for the rest of his life.

 He forgot about everything, his feet moving. He grinned, smiling so big and for so long that he wondered if he’d ever be able to frown again. He was euphoric. He turned in time, matching the beat easily, laughing with the strangers around him.

 The music came to a slow stop before it began again. The melody that started was slower, sweeter. The energy of the night had been vibrant, yet it melted into a calm, comforting embrace, and Minho slowed down, too, looking around for the one person he wanted to share it with.

 He searched the faces around him, the panic from before bubbling up in him once again as he realized he couldn’t find Jisung amongst them. His head whipped from side to side, but all he saw were the kind strangers. His chest constricted, and he tried to think about when he last saw Jisung, before he’d gotten lost in the dancing.

 Minho pushed his way out of the circle of people–muttering _excuse me_ and smiling tightly at the concerned faces of people who asked if he was alright. He looked around–but the streets surrounding him suddenly seemed much bigger than before, and he was consumed by a sense of hopelessness. There was no way he’d be able to find Jisung.

 His heart broke. Jisung had left him. Of course he did, it was the end of the night. His part of the bargain was up. Minho felt mindlessly at his pocket, wondering when Jisung could’ve taken the ring–except it was still there. Confused, Minho pulled it out of his pocket, staring down at Nunbyeol. He glanced up once again, one last attempt to find Jisung.

 Why would he leave without his payment?

 “Hyung?”

 Minho whipped around, eyes watering, to see Jisung staring at him, concerned, hands behind his back. His eyes trailed from the devastated look on Minho’s face and the ring in his hand before his face straightened in understanding.

 Minho let out a sob of relief, reaching up to wipe at unshed tears, and when he opened his eyes again, Jisung was in front of him. His eyes were shining, worried. “You cry a lot, hyung,” he muttered with a sad laugh, thumbing his cheek, even though no tears had actually fallen.

 Minho sighed, unconsciously leaning into the touch. “I thought–I thought you left me.”

 Jisung frowned. “Why would I do that?”

 Suddenly feeling foolish, Minho shrugged, staring at the ground.

 “Minho, look at me, please,” Jisung said, his voice impossibly soft. Minho forced himself to look at Jisung, heart pounding at the look on Jisung’s face. “Why would I leave you?”

 Minho shook his head. “I don’t know. You said–you said you’d be with me the whole time.”

 Jisung laughed a little, still holding Minho’s face, both of them forgetting their unspoken agreement. Any other time, Minho would worry about them being seen, but it was late enough into the night that the few people still around were paying them very little attention, all focused on their own agenda. Jisung smiled, shaking his head. “I lied about that,” he said.

 Minho blinked at him, feeling a little betrayed. “Why?”

 “I couldn’t _teach_ you to dance, hyung. You had to experience it for yourself. And it would’ve been a different experience if I’d held your hand the whole time,” Jisung said. As he spoke, he took his hand from Minho’s face, trailing it down his arm to interlock their fingers tentatively, his other hand remaining behind his back. He met Minho’s eyes, hesitant. “Is this okay?”

 Silently, Minho nodded. “I–I like it,” he whispered. He’d come along way from his confident flirting. Maybe it was the magic of the beginning of the night wearing off. Maybe it was because he was actually scared of losing Jisung.  
   
 Jisung grinned, quieting his thoughts. “Besides,” he continued. “I had somewhere I had to go.”

 Minho blinked at him, confused. “Where?”

 Jisung bit his lip, and, if Minho didn’t know any better, he’d think Jisung was nervous. Still, he smiled, pulling his other arm from behind his back into Minho’s sight. In his hand, he held a bouquet of sunflowers. He watched Minho’s reaction carefully, hopeful. “Do you like them?”

 Minho’s heart fluttered, and his eyes filled with tears all over again. He reached out, gingerly taking the flowers from Jisung’s hand, surprised when he was met with a strange texture.

 He looked up at Jisung again, tilting his head, and confused all over again. Jisung appeared even more nervous than before. “They’re not real,” he said quickly, blushing and looking away. “I’m sorry–I know you like real flowers. I just–I thought this would be–nice, I guess? They won’t wither or die, you can keep them forever and maybe remember me?” Jisung seemed to be working himself up, still not meeting Minho’s eyes, and Minho’s heart swelled, overjoyed and full of an emotion he didn’t dare name. But Jisung kept talking, not giving him the chance to tell him that. “Sorry. That’s–that’s dumb. But they’re made out of fabric and the vendor said they were enchanted to be as real as possible, but you know how the city is, always throwing around the word magic to–”

 “Jisungie,” Minho interrupted. “I love them.”

 Jisung’s mouth snapped shut, and he flushed darker. “Are you–are you sure? We can go get real ones if you don’t like them.”

 “No,” Minho said, shaking his head. “These are perfect.”

 Jisung looked immensely relieved, relaxing. They looked at each other for a while, neither of them knowing what to say before Jisung blinked, looking up at the sky. It was steadily lightening, the first licks of the sun touching the horizon. It was tragically beautiful, and Minho looked up, too, to see the stars had dimmed into the approaching sunrise.

 “I was going to dance one last time,” Minho whispered. “The song changed, I came to look for you.”

 Jisung’s eyes grew sad, and he looked longingly at the spot where the dancers had been. They’d cleared out now, leaving only a couple of musicians, packing away their instruments for the night. “I’m sorry.”  
   
 Minho gazed at Jisung, and smiled, despite the melancholy feeling that began to claw at his chest. “Do you think they’d play one last song? If we asked?”

 Jisung blinked, then smiled hopefully. He nodded. “The city never sleeps anyways,” he said.

 Minho pulled him, hand in hand to the musicians, gripping tightly, even when the musicians looked up in surprise, lingering on their interlocked fingers. “Excuse me,” he said politely. “I have about ten minutes left in this city and I really want to dance one last time with the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my life.”

 Jisung spluttered behind him, as one of the musician’s eyes widened, blinking once again at their hands, before he smiled, big and blinding. “Of course,” he responded, and Minho noticed he had a distinct accent, but couldn’t place it. “I think we have a little music left for you.”

 “Thank you!” Minho said, then turned back to Jisung, grinning triumphantly as the music began to play again, a soft and beautiful melody that Minho could just melt into. Jisung looked back at him with wide eyes, happy and gleaming.  
   
 Minho pulled Jisung to him, leaving no space between their bodies as he began to sway to the slow beat. Instinctively, Jisung’s arms wound around Minho’s neck, a surprised squeak leaving his mouth at the sudden lack of space. “Minho,” he whispered. “You just–”

 Minho shushed him, heart pounding. “Let’s just dance.”

 Jisung nodded, resting his head onto his shoulder.

 Minho chuckled a little, letting his chin settle lightly on Jisung’s head. “We’re breaking your rules again, Jisungie.”

 Jisung laughed, hiding his face in Minho’s chest. “Fuck the rules.”

 “Poetic,” Minho hummed. He tugged him impossibly closer, terrified of the song ending. He knew his arms had tightened around Jisung’s waist, but the younger didn’t protest. “I’ll be back, you know that right?”

 Jisung sighed. “When?”

 Minho shook his head. “I can’t answer that. I really wish I could, but I can’t make empty promises.”  
   
 “I’ll wait,” Jisung said, without hesitation. “Every night, in this spot. I’ll wait.”

 “No,” Minho whispered, his voice sad. “I want you to live your life, Jisung. I’ll never be able to know when I can get away, or for how long. I can’t promise you anything that–” Minho hesitated, “–that someone else could.”

 Jisung pulled back to meet Minho’s gaze, eyes fierce and determined. “But _I_ can make _you_ promises. I don’t want anyone else,” he added, the last words so quiet, so honest and vulnerable, they made Minho’s breath hitch, and he wondered if he’d been imagining them.

 “Jisung, I–”

 Jisung kissed him, lips pushing against him almost desperately. Minho was so stunned that he didn’t react at first, just froze as Jisung messily pressed into him for a long moment. When he pulled away, he looked as shocked at Minho felt, cheeks turning dark red. “Shit. I shouldn’t have done that, you’re the _pri_ –”

 Minho tugged him closer again, leading his mouth to his own, one hand on either side of his head. Jisung squeaked, but melted into him, easily letting Minho take control. Minho smirked into kiss, one hand going up to bury itself in Jisung’s hair, pleased at the softness of the strands.

 It was anything but chaste. Minho licked gently into Jisung’s mouth after ghosting his tongue slowly along the bottom of his lip. But what had started as hurried and desperate became slow and deep. Minho loved Jisung’s lips. He was certain he could kiss them forever. Except, he needed air.

 He pulled back to breathe, but barely got the chance to before Jisung was whining and chasing his lips, sucking him back in.

 The song was long over by the time they stopped kissing. Minho forced himself to part, their foreheads still touching as they tried to catch their breath. “I have to go,” he whispered.

 Jisung shook his head rapidly, eyes watering. “I–I have so much to tell you,” he said, looking up at Minho. He sighed when Minho just gave him a sad look. “This is so unfair,” he breathed, leaning into Minho and resting his face against his chest again.

 Minho ran his hand through Jisung’s hair, heart aching. But he refused to cry. It was the end of the night, and he couldn’t be that person anymore. Now he had to be a prince again.

 He kissed Jisung on the forehead, then sighed as Jisung captured his lips again, the kiss brief and deep. “Jisung, I think I love you,” Minho said, the words getting lost between their mouths, only for them to hear.

 Jisung shook in his arms. “That’s–you _can’t_ love me,” he whispered.  
          
 “I don’t care,” Minho replied fiercely. “I love you, Han Jisung, and I’m sick of people telling me what I can and can’t do.”

 Jisung’s smile was blinding, even though there were still tears in his eyes and a heavy grief in Minho’s chest, knowing that he had to leave. Yet, when he looked into Jisung’s eyes, he knew that he felt the same way.

 Jisung opened his mouth to respond but Minho cut him off with one last kiss–a simple press of lips, sweet and innocent. “Tell me when we see each other again,” he murmured.

 Minho backed away until he was just holding one of Jisung’s hands. With his free hand, he pulled Nunbyeol out of his pocket, and, ignoring Jisung shaking his head repeatedly, he placed the ring in his hand, then closed his fingers around the pouch. “Her name is Nunbyeol,” he said, echoing his previous words. “She brings luck.” He gazed at Jisung longingly. “Or, at least, she brought me luck.”

 “Minho, _please_ ,” Jisung said desperately, trying to push the ring back into Minho’s hands. “I don’t want it–it’s payment, I don’t want a payment.”

 Minho shook his head, staying far enough out of Jisung’s reach so that he couldn’t give the ring back. “Keep it. This is my promise to you, Jisung. I think whoever sold me that ring was right. She is magical.” Minho looked at him one last time. He took in his shining eyes, the plump cheeks that he loved to see flush, and beautiful lips, bitten and red. His gaze lingered on his lips before returning to his eyes, so full of emotion. Minho knew how he felt, he didn’t need any magic words from Jisung to validate his feelings–his could read everything in his eyes. He was an open book, and he loved Minho. “She’ll lead me back to you, I think.” He smiled, hand reaching up to rest on Jisung’s cheek. “Goodbye, Jisung.”  
   
 And Minho walked away, sunflowers in hand, and, though his heart ached and he longed to stay, he didn’t look back. Because that’s not what princes do.

—

 Minho was caught returning to the castle. Actually, he was caught earlier than that–the guards had known he wasn’t in his room for about an hour by the time he returned. His parents were furious. They blocked his window and put extra security by his doors, just for safe measure.

 At first, Minho was devastated. If he’d left just a little bit earlier–if he hadn’t been selfish with his time–he wouldn’t have been caught. He would’ve been able to continue sneaking away if he’d _just been back a little earlier_.

 But Minho couldn’t bring himself to regret anything. His extra minutes were spent with Jisung, and he wouldn’t return even a second of them. Even if he’d go through the rest of his life locked up in the castle, imprisoned in his life, he had the ghost of Jisung’s fingers against his, and he had the memories of what if felt like to splash in a pond and lay under the stars.

 He knew what it felt like to fall in love.

—

 “Your Highness?”  
   
 Minho hadn’t realized someone had come into his room, too busy staring at a vase of sunflowers set against the window. When he’d held them in the city streets, two months ago, the petals pressed between their bodies, it had seemed like they were real. Now, he could tell that the petals were made of fabric, but he thought that that was just the effect of taking them outside the city walls. For some reason, no amount of magic ever made it outside of the city.

 Not that Minho believed in magic.

 Still, the flowers were as vibrant as ever, and he loved them more than anything he owned because they were given to him by a boy whose smile rivaled their own petals.

 “Yes?” Minho answered, not even turning to look at the guard that had called for him. They were used to it now, Minho’s distance. Rarely did he smile, except for when he thought about Jisung, but no one in the castle needed to know that.

 “You’re needed in the council room. It’s urgent,” he said.  
   
 Minho reached up to touch one of the sunflowers with a sigh, before he stood, turning to the guard with a solemn expression. “Is it–?” he asked.

 The guard nodded, face grim. “Yes.”

 Minho took in a deep breath, trying to fight back the sudden terror that fought to overtake him, coupled with a strange, unexpected sorrow. He’d known this was going to happen for several days–he’d made his peace with it. He didn’t expect to feel so sad. He nodded, attempting to look put together, and smoothed out the ruffles on his shirt. “Let’s go, then,” he said, trying, and failing, to steady himself.

 The guard gave him a kind smile, and Minho dreaded what he was going to say. Minho didn’t want to hear it. But the guard surprised him by saying, “Those sunflowers–are they new?”

 Minho turned his head to look at them, shining in his window, and he felt a sense of calm take over him, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Comfort settled over him like a blanket, even though he knew he was scared, even though he didn’t know what was going to happen next. Minho shook his head slowly. “No, they were a gift,” he said.

 The guard hummed in acknowledgment, leading the way out of his room and down the hall. “They’re beautiful.”

 Minho sighed, sad and hopeful and broken and terrified all at once. “They truly are,” he whispered.

—

  _One year later._

 Minho had been waiting for a night like this.

 It had been a long, difficult year and it had been nearly impossible to get out of the castle. Though his parents’ deaths hadn’t come as a shock to anyone–they’d struggled with a hopeless disease for a month, passing away around the same time–it was still difficult for the public to take in. Minho was shoved into the spotlight, needing to take way more responsibilities than he was used to or prepared for.

 His parents’ funeral being one of them. He knew he was supposed to mourn, but he didn’t know how. He felt sad, but he thought he’d been mourning the loss of his parents for a lot longer than the rest of the kingdom. Still, he felt the pity of everyone at the funeral. Neighboring kingdoms looked down on him, all of them thinking he was too young to rule. For a long time, Minho thought they were right.

 Now, it was almost a year since his parents had passed away. He knew he was going to prove everyone wrong. That was the only thought in his head for a long time. He started cleaning up the city, rebuilding it to its former glory, and had begun to work on a plan–a home, of sorts–for the orphaned children in the city.

 His coronation was tomorrow, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. He’d spent so much time preparing for it, that he hadn’t time to really think about it. It was all becoming too real. Tomorrow, he’d be king. Young, yes. But Minho was just starting to believe that he was ready.

 All, except for one thing.

 Minho was easily recognized by the public now, so he slid a dark cloak over himself, the hood low over his eyes, and pulled a mask up over the bottom part of his face before he left. He’d walked out the front of the castle, no longer needing to sneak away. He waved away guards that requested to accompany him, and stole away into the night.

 The city was bustling with activity when he entered it. This part of the city was beautiful, and Minho loved it more than anything else. Once, it was because the street lamps were tall, but the light still danced in the cobblestone street, because no matter how late it was, the streets were still full of life. Because it never slept.

 Now, it was because the streets held memories, and stepping onto them brought him back to a year ago, when he’d walked into the city with wide eyes and a hopeful heart. He was looking for adventure, and he found everything he’s ever wanted.

 Minho didn’t used to believe in magic, but Jisung had filled him with a feeling that he thought must’ve been it, even after the time that had passed since he last saw him. And, though he was terrified and nervous, he was also filled with an overwhelming joy, knowing he was finally going back to him. He was finally going to be able to hold him again, to love him the way he wished he’d had the courage and ability to do months ago.

 He started by asking the vendors, trying not to look too suspicious with his hood pulled low and eyes hidden. He asked for Han Jisung. Everyone seemed to recognize the name, but no one could conjure up the boy who was supposed to go with it. After a while, he began to describe his features, but it was too vague. All Minho knew how to describe him was beautiful, shining brighter than an evening sun or a full moon, but he doubted anyone would understand what he meant if he told them that.

 As a last, desperate attempt, he described Nunbyeol. He stopped at the last vendor on the street and asked for Jisung, then told the lady what he looked like, then mentioned he might have a ring on. Minho knew he was reaching now, but he wouldn’t stop until he found him again.

 “It’s a bright blue sapphire–more beautiful than any gem you’ve ever seen–set into a silver band with intricate designs,” Minho told the vendor, describing Nunbyeol to the best of his ability after a year of not seeing it.

 The lady perked up at this, suddenly curious. She eyed Minho suspiciously, like she was trying to see through the cloak. “What do you want with that ring?” she asked.

 Minho’s heart leapt, hopeful. “Nothing,” he told her, honest. “I just want to see the owner.”

 The lady leaned back in her tent, crossing her arms. “Han Jisung, did you say?” she asked. Minho nodded. She hesitated for a minute, walking Minho carefully. “He’s selling it, you know.”

 Minho’s heart stopped, sinking to his stomach. “What?” he breathed in disbelief.  
   
 The lady nodded in confirmation. “He’s been trying to sell it for about six months.” She frowned. “I even tried to buy it for myself, once.”

 Minho almost felt tears in his eyes, but he refused to cry. He hadn’t allowed himself to for a year–not even when his parents passed away, leaving him with a kingdom that he didn’t know how to rule–and he wouldn’t start now. He told himself there was only one person who would ever see him cry. Even though his chest ached, he forced himself to ask, “What’s his price?” Maybe he didn’t want to know the answer, because Minho was sure that no matter what, it was going to hurt. Minho could never put a price on his feelings for Jisung.

 The lady snorted. “Are you new here?”

 Minho sighed. “Something like that.”

 The lady shook her head, but continued. “He doesn’t have a price. None. At first, he just turned people away when they tried to buy it, saying they didn’t have enough. But then it became a sort of challenge–everyone wants to know what that damn ring costs. But I’m telling you, it doesn’t have a price. He told me once that he’s only ever going to sell it to one person, and then he refused to talk to me for any longer. So if you’re looking to buy, don’t bother–”

 Minho let out a sharp, relieved laugh, and he felt the euphoria come crashing down on him all over again, heart pounding with an intense excitement.

 The lady gave him a strange look at the sound he’d emitted, but Minho didn’t care. “Where can I find him?” he demanded.

 “Are you on something?” she asked.

 “Where can I find him?” Minho repeated, more urgently.

 The lady blinked at him, concerned. “Probably the same place he always is, by the old pond–”

 Minho didn’t even give her a chance to finish speaking before he was hurrying away.

 “Hey!” she called after him. “Do you even know where that is?”

 Minho knew exactly where he was going, his feet carrying him to the area like it was a path he’d walked a million times instead of one. He stopped only for a second, to buy something he thought he’d need and tuck it into his pocket.

 He could hear the frogs' song that he missed so much from a long distance away, and he lingered at the edge of the grass leading down to the pond, where there was a vendor tent–exactly like the other ones–set up next to the water. He could tell there was someone inside, but it was dark and he was too far away to tell.

 Carefully, he made his way to the tent, making sure that his mask and hood were still in tact and he looked like any other traveler making his way through. The boy inside had his back to him, and Minho dared to let himself hope. It _had_ to be him, he could feel it.

 Minho cleared his throat.         

 The boy turned around to look at him, and, even though Minho had been expecting Jisung, he was still caught completely off guard by him. Minho’s breath caught in his throat, and he’d never been so thankful for the mask, muffling the sound.

 Jisung was every bit as beautiful as the day he’d left him. He’d grown more into his cheeks, and, although they were still slightly chubby, there was definitely more definition to his face. His hair was a bit longer, parting at the forehead, and wavy. But his eyes hadn’t changed a bit. They were still wide and expressive, and Minho thought he could drown in them.

 “Can I help you?” Jisung asked, peering suspiciously at him.

 Minho nodded. “I think so,” he said.

 He waited, wondering if the younger boy would recognize his voice. It seemed he almost did–his eyes widening for a second in disbelief before turning sad. Jisung shook his head a little, like he was trying to clear it, before giving Minho a tight-lipped smile. “If you’re here about the ring, I won’t sell it to you.”

 Minho raised his head a little, daring. “Why not?”

 Jisung’s eyes held a challenge, and he crossed his arms, ever the strong-willed boy that Minho fell for. “I’ll give that ring to one person, and one person only,” he said. “You can leave now.”

 Minho almost laughed, giddy. Jisung hadn’t changed at all. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he said. “I’m looking for the perfect ring to give the love of my life.”

 Jisung blinked, curious despite himself. “A wedding ring?”

 “Perhaps.”

 Jisung sighed, almost a little wistful. “Well, you won’t find it here. Like I said–”

 “Name your price,” Minho demanded, deciding to push him a little bit. “I’ll give you anything.”

 Jisung laughed. “You’re not the first person to try that. The ring can’t be bought.”

 Minho leaned back, taking in Jisung’s face once again. He was nervous, afraid that Jisung might not want him anymore–but if that were the case, why would he go to such lengths as to sell Nunbyeol? Make her famous? Minho knew that the person Jisung was referring to had to be himself. “I think I can buy it,” Minho said. “I think I have something you won’t be able to refuse.”

 Jisung’s gaze settled into a hard glare. “Cocky, aren’t you?”

 Minho nodded.

 Jisung sighed, looking almost bored. “You’re also not the first person to insist they had something I wouldn’t be able to refuse.” Still, Jisung waved, indicating Minho should show it to him. “Well? Let’s see it, then.”

 Jisung’s eyes were dark, challenging. Minho wanted to laugh, ecstatic, knowing that he was about to play the winning move.  
   
 From his pocket, he drew out a single sunflower and placed it on the table between them, then took a step back.

 Jisung stared at it a long time, eyes wide, before his head shot up. He looked at Minho in disbelief. His expression was careful, like he didn’t dare hope. “Take off your hood,” he demanded.

 Wordlessly, Minho pulled back his hood, revealing his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair.

 “And your mask,” Jisung added, his voice shaking.

 Minho pulled the mask down from his face, watching at Jisung’s eyes filled with tears. He fought back his own. “Anything else you want me to take off, Jisungie?” he said, covering his nervousness with the joke.

 Jisung shook his head rapidly, and he scrambled over the table–not around, which would’ve been much easier–in his hurry to get to Minho. He threw his arms around his neck and buried his face in his chest.

 Minho held him for a long time, his own tears finally slipping down his face. He finally felt whole again, like he’d been only living with half a soul for a year, and, now, holding Jisung, everything was right with the world. He ran a hand through Jisung’s hair, hushing him softly. “Jisungie, are you crying?”

 Jisung shook his head, but didn’t look up at him. “No,” he said.

 Minho hummed. “It’s okay to cry, Jisungie,” Minho said, repeating the same words Jisung had told him a year ago. His mouth broke into a smile, and he looked up at the sky. “The stars are really beautiful.”

 Jisung laughed, the sound choked through his tears. “I’m not crying because of the stupid stars, Minho,” he said, his voice muffled in Minho’s neck, where he continued to press his face. “I’m crying because I missed you.”

 Minho laughed, too, and it felt so good to allow himself to _feel_ again. “Well, that’s okay, too,” he whispered, pulling back so Jisung was forced to look in his eyes. He rested one hand on his cheek, swiping fondly at the tears. “I missed you, too, Jisungie. So, so much.”

 Jisung blinked, grinning, and leaned up to connect their lips. It was wet and messy and tasted like tears, but it was perfect. Jisung’s hand wound around Minho’s head to hold him there, lips moving slowly.

 When they disconnected, Jisung gazed up at him, eyes like stars, and Minho knew that this boy would forever have his heart. “You told me to tell you when we met again,” he breathed, and Minho felt the words across his own lips. Minho waited, holding Jisung close enough that they could feel each other’s heartbeats. “You brought so much joy back into my life, Minho,” he began, eyes holding all the care and love in the world. “Even if it was for such a short time, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since the moment you left. If not for you, I wouldn’t have played in a pond”–at this, Minho laughed brightly–“or realized how beautiful the city was, or how amazing dancing is. I haven’t danced, not since you left. It’s not the same anymore. I couldn’t do it without thinking about you.” Jisung gazed at him for a long time, and Minho waited, patient, so full of love and happiness. “I love you,” Jisung finally said, and there wasn’t a hint of doubt or hesitation in his voice.

 Minho laughed joyously, kissing him again. “I love you, too.”

 Minho grasped Jisung’s hands, realizing that Nunbyeol sat on his ring finger, beautiful and winking at them in the starlight. He laughed, shaking his head, as he pulled Jisung’s hand to his mouth to kiss it, then the ring. “I guess she led me back to you after all.”

 Jisung sighed happily, looking at the ring. “You were right, you did have something I couldn’t refuse. The ring is sold–all yours.” He blinked up at Minho through his lashes, pretty and seductive, and Minho had to wonder if Jisung learned that from him. “What are you going to do with it now that it’s yours?”

 “I bought it for the love of my life, remember?” Minho said easily, intertwining his fingers. “It’s going to stay right where it is.”

 Jisung hummed happily. “A wedding ring?” he said, teasing.

 “Perhaps,” Minho quipped back effortlessly.

 Jisung pulled Minho down by his shirt, happy and smiling. “What about the love of your life?” he asked. At Minho’s confusion, Jisung giggled, pulling him even closer until he was able to whisper in his ear. “What are you going to do with _him_ now that he’s yours?”

 Minho shivered, but he grinned, leaning in impossibly close until his lips hovered just barely over Jisung’s. The latter’s eyes fluttered shut, waiting for Minho to kiss him.

 “That’s easy,” Minho murmured. “I’m going to dance.” At that, he turned, and began to run towards the city. _His_ city. The one he knew would welcome him with open arms and bright music, and Jisung didn’t hesitate to run after him.

 Jisung easily caught up to him, grasping his hand as they walked into the city together.

 Minho could see now why the city never slept. There was too much beauty to miss. He watched the lights of the lampposts, coupled with the light of the moon, fall onto Jisung’s face, illuminating him, and he knew that magic was real. And he'd found it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my baby, I've been working on it for a while. I really hope you liked it!!!! I was messing around with a couple different ending ideas... but honestly, this wrote itself, so I hope it's okay. 
> 
> If you liked this, you should check out my other stories!!! And if you're here from Verbatim, I promise an update as soon as possible! 
> 
> I made a twitter and a tumblr!!! @simbawritesv on both, so follow me if you'd like!!! It's new so there's nothing there yet. 
> 
>  
> 
> Anyways, thanks again for reading, and please leave comments and kudos (they're all greatly appreciated and honestly make my day!!)


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